


SG1 riftverse, Dmitri variant

by braintics (magistrate)



Category: Beyond the Rift (RP), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Braintic, Gen, Jack O'Neill is having kind of a weird day, Technobabble, WIP Amnesty, ill-advised crossovers with fandoms no one knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistrate/pseuds/braintics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a trans-dimensional rift opens up in Jack O'Neill's cabin kitchen, and out pops an atypical angel who really should have been inflicted on the Major of the team instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SG1 riftverse, Dmitri variant

**Author's Note:**

> My braintics are rough scribbles, written out to varying degrees of incompleteness, which for one reason or another (vastly unconquerable scope, logical/logistical/self-indulgent problems inherent in the premise, loss of interest halfway through, etc.) will never actually turn into complete fics. They're presented here because leaving them to languish in my scratch folders seems like a waste. Though I may eventually find myself writing more on them, I have no expectation of polishing or finishing any of them.
> 
> I write nonlinearly, which means that my written braintics tend to skip around a lot. While reading, you may encounter a
> 
> >
> 
> and then find yourself anywhere from half a sentence to several plot arcs ahead of where you were, with no notice, cause, or segue. Just pretend you're an archaeologist reading some long-forgotten tale off a damaged stone tablet, and it'll all be good.  
> I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the sausage-making portions of my brain!
> 
> * * *
> 
> This fic was written with characters and concepts cribbed from Beyond the Rift, the [LJ](http://beyondtherift.livejournal.com/profile) and later [DW](http://beyondtherift.dreamwidth.org/profile) multifandom RP. [Dmitri Lang](http://beyondtherift.livejournal.com/143753.html) was one of my favorite characters to play, and yes, she's pretty much [always like that](http://beyondtherift.livejournal.com/?skip=80&tag=dmitri%20lang).
> 
> * * *

The muffled _**THUMP-thump** -thunka-thump_ from the kitchen might have woken him, but it was the following _**CRASH!**_ and the cascade of small objects hitting the floor that actually got him out of bed.

Jack O'Neill, who'd been expecting a nice, quiet leave with nothing more annoying than deer traipsing across his cabin's yard, hit the floor of his bedroom with his bedside beretta firmly in hand, moving for the door in his bare feet. Instinct was moving faster than reason, partially because he was used to relying on instinct more than reason, and partially because there wasn't much for reason to grab on to, in this case.

This was a low-crime area. Hell, it was a low _population_ area, miles away from anything, and it just wouldn't be profitable to drive all the way out here on the offchance that someone wouldn't be home and would have valuables for a break in.  Which left, what, NID?  Even if they were the least stealthy NID agents ever.  Or the most tactless distraction ever.

He supposed it could be a particularly large and industrious raccoon.

Nothing jumped out at him, figuratively or literally, when he crept into the hallway, and he moved for the source of the noises. Paused just around the corner from the kitchen, where he could hear things hastily being set to rights – and a woman's voice keeping up a steady, unhappy-sounding monologue, the only discernable parts of which are _scientific inquiry_ , _Jesusshit_ , and _oh, set me on fire and douse me with vodka._

>

to see a young woman, maybe twenty-five, with an overstuffed messenger bag and an Asian cant to her features, scrambling around on her hands and knees.

And a twisting field of energy, bluegoldgreen and flecked with angry violet, taking up a good corner of the room.

_What, the–?_

It couldn't have been more than a second that his threat assessment hung on the – the _whatever_ , but in that second the girl jumped up, saw him, and raised both hands. "Whoa, _whoa_ , I'm crying Uncle, uncle!  Just don't shoot," she said.

...and cripes, she talked fast.  Fast, with a Chicago accent. He blinked – the energy wasn't making an threatening moves, just standing there and even seeming to shrink, a little, if you looked at the edges, so he got his mouth shut and turned to her.

"And don't touch the glowing thing," she said, before he had a chance to say anything.  "Look, sorry for busting in, but I wasn't exactly at the helm of the Trans-Universal Conduit Cruise, and if you could toss me that rubber ball, I could see if I could get out of your kitchen and back where I'm supposed to be.  Assuming of course that this isn't Logopolis, because if it is, if you could point me at the nearest science commission, that'd be better than a poke in the eye." She let out a nervous chuckle. "Or... a shot to the center of mass, old soldier. Really. Don't shoot."

If possible, now the situation made even less sense than it had when he'd come in.  "Okay – _stop_. What?" He shook his head.  "Who are you, and why are you in my kitchen?" _And what **is** that?_ didn't quite make it out.

That stopped her, and she blinked and lowered her hands an inch or two.  "Dmitri Lang, A-Okay for the Chicagoland area, recordskeeper, journo, and first-on-the-ground for the Conrad Community Rift Reversal Project, aiming at understanding and controlling Everybody's Friend Osscy, The Trans-Universal Rift," she said, pistolling a finger – slowly – and the flickering lightshow which was still steadily shrinking in the corner.  "The thirty-second orientation?  Chicago's home to a bevy of the beasts, tearing up the fabric of reality, nabbing people from various universes and pulling them through into the ol' Windy City.  Tradition holds that the damn things only go one way, but we got enough displaced brilliant folks around and decided to change that, start sending people home.  We think we've managed to reverse it, I step through to check, I come out on your counter.  Sorry about that, by the way.  Now, _pistolero_ , can I toss that rubber ball through the aperture to see if it's safe for human transit in the opposite direction?"

Jack looked down. A red rubber ball had rolled against the trashcan, and Dmitri Lang was pointing to it. He glanced over her again. She and the rift – Osscy? The beast? _Whatever_ – were still as nonthreatening as they had been, but they were still combining to do a number on his situational understanding. Rather, his lack thereof.

It was decidedly too early for this, but Jack suspected there was no time of the day or night which wouldn't be.

He bent, still keeping the beretta ready, and picked up the ball.

It felt like a rubber ball.  Lightweight, probably hollow, nothing to suggest it was filled with anything nasty or explosive, no resistance to the give of its walls to suggest that it had electronics inside.  He tossed it to her, underhand, and she caught it.

"Heads up," she said, and tossed it right into the energy.

Which hissed like an angry snake and tossed it right back out, much faster, and in a lot of tiny jagged pieces.

"Jeez!"  He jumped back as Dmitri ducked, putting up her hands to shield her face.  The rubber bits rained down throughout the kitchen, and Dmitri straightened up again and groaned.

"Yeah, that was a pretty typical reaction to something getting fed through the Rift the wrong way," she said, and there was a note of resignation to her tone.  "Hence 'don't touch.' Great if you have documents you need shredded, though."

Jack was suddenly extraordinarily glad he hadn't convinced Daniel to come out for fishing. Daniel probably would have stuck his face into it.  "Right.  What was that?"

"Trans-Universal Rift," Dmitri said, like she'd already explained this and expected it to have made sense. She tilted her head at him. "Oh, _zambesianus_. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Well, if she was there to rob him, she was doing a marvelous job. Jack was so disoriented she could have walked out with his refrigerator and he might not have known how to react.

"Yes," he said, and lowered the pistol. Crazy, maybe, and in cahoots with a giant universe shredder, but he wasn't getting _dangerous_ off her. "You did. You want to try explaining what you're doing here one more time? Use small words, this time."

Dmitri blinked, then flashed a grin which came close to showing every tooth she had. "Pleasure to." She hiked a thumb at the lightshow. "That is a hole in reality. I fell through it."

Jack digested that for a moment.

"Ah," he said. "Why didn't you just say so?"

The grin came back, again just for a second. "Hey, you have a place where I can sit down, take some notes?" she asked. "Or if you could point me at a 24-hour coffee shop, I can get out of your stylishly salted hair."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, got sidetracked on _stylishly salted hair_ , and came back around with a shake of his head. "We're in rural Minnesota, twenty miles from anything," he said. Dmitri whistled through her teeth.

" _Chyort_. In that case, I'm really sorry for dropping in."

Jack glared at her. He couldn't tell if that was a dig at his cabin or not, but it was early enough that he felt justified in being annoyed whether or not there was an insult there.

After a second, he groaned and jerked a thumb back at the living room. "In there. There's a table."

Dmitri reached up – slowly, with a glance to his beretta – and doffed an imaginary hat. "Much obliged. –what's your name, anyway?"

"Classified," he said, and turned to go find his phone.

* * *

He stowed the Beretta in his bedside drawer and locked it, and dug his cell up from the bottom of his pack where he'd fully intended to ignore it all weekend long. By some miracle of unconscious planning the battery wasn't completely run down when he turned it on, and he went back into the hallway where he could at least sort-of keep an eye on things without being overheard.

Hopefully.

Their cells were secure, at least. He had a feeling that security would be necessary.

He punched in the appropriate speed-dial. Three rings and the other end picked up, with a apprehensive _"Hello?"_

"Carter?"

There was a sleepy pause on the other end.  _"Colonel?"_

He gave a sympathetic wince. "Yeah. Listen, sorry for calling so early."

A second passed, and Jack assumed she was listening for explosions in the background or automatics going off. _"It's three in the morning."_

"I know," he said.  "Believe me, I know.  It's just that there's someone in my livingroom, and she's speaking extremely fast and using a lot of big words."

There was another silence.  This one sounded incredulous, though.

"If it helps, she said something about a trans-universal rift in the fabric of reality, something like that."

_"...what?"_

"You like to talk to her?"

He could hear a rustle of something – paper, fabric, something like that.  _"Uh, sure."_

"Right."

He wandered back into the living room, where Dmitri had kicked off her shoes and was practically perched on the edge of his couch, sitting on her heels, with... an extremely nice-looking computer with an Apple logo on it balanced on the edge of his coffee table.  "I'm guessing you don't do a lot of work from home, then," she said.

"Not typically," Jack said, and pointed to the phone.  "You said you wanted to talk to a scientist?"

He might have been only half-rested and not at the top of his game, but he could have _sworn_ she hopped up and darted to him too fast, cheerfully plucking the phone out of his hand and bouncing back onto the couch again, putting her feet up on the table.  "Dmitri Lang, A-Okay, unlicensed trans-universal explorer speaking," she said.  "Who's the pleasure?"

Jack almost winced.  Carter was probably going to have his hide for inflicting this on her at stupid-dark-thirty.  He headed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Dmitri kept the conversation going on her end.  And it didn't seem to make any more sense for only hearing half of it.

"Nice to meet you, Major Sam Carter US Air Force.  What's your specialization?"

Jack pulled down can of coffee, fished a filter out from the back corner of one of the cupboards, and hunted around until he found where the coffeepot had been stashed after its last use.

"Journalism, sociopolitical science, and the evolution of the counterculture in Rift-affected areas, but I'll take a bit out of just about anything that crosses my plate.  Listen; your classified pal doesn't seem familiar with the term Rift, proper noun, sucks people out of their home universes, alters their biology, you know, this sort of thing, so I have to ask..."

The coffeepot had never been rinsed out from the last time it was used.  Jack scowled at it, turned the hot-water tap on full blast, stuck the pot under and started to swish it clean.  By the time the water he was dumping out of it ran clear, Dmitri seemed to have moved on.

"...full-spectrum analyses, but we never had the equipment to scan beyond the event horizon and into the conduit itself."

Coffee in filter, filter in machine, water in machine, pot in machine, machine plugged it, button pushed, coffee being produced.  Jack wandered back into the living room and dropped into a chair across from the couch, giving Dmitri a halfhearted glare.  She didn't seem to notice.

"You mean–?  ...yeah, hang on; I know I have a sheet on that in the project notes."  She shuffled through the bag, from which three or four folders and their contents were already spreading across the table, and withdrew a slender binder.  "Filed under 'C' for 'Cryptophysics.'  Okay, _muuttohaukka_ , here goes..."

And the next several minutes disappeared into a haze of numbers, equations, and a lot of very big words, said very, very fast.

He wandered back into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee, and came back out to watch her again.  By the time he sat down, two more folders, what looked like a portable CD drive, and a pocket-sized pad of graph paper had joined the clutter taking over the table.

"Uh-huh," Dmitri said.  "...uh-huh.  Well, good to know the thing with the separation of the neurons isn't going to be a concern, I guess.  ...no, totally; thanks for the verif."  She took the phone away from her year and held it out.  "Wants to talk to a 'Colonel O'Neill' again. I assume that's you.  Is that coffee?"

"Knock yourself out," he said, and took the phone from her.  "Carter?"

Dmitri hopped off the couch and headed for the kitchen.  Against his ear, Carter's voice came out of the phone's speakers, sounding far, far too awake.

That was never a good sign.

 _"Colonel, I think she's telling the truth,"_ were her first words.  _"Granted, all I have are back-of-the-envelope calculations, I don't have access to all my modeling software here, but the physics seem to check out.  With your permission I'd like to get a team from the SGC to your cabin to scan for residual energy readings, see if we can–"_

"Whoa, whoa!" he said, and the excited patter died off.  "You want to have a team from the SGC come out to my _cabin_?  This, my quiet haven far, far away from anything which should be considered work or the real world?  Can't we just bring the girl in, debrief her, and... you do whatever you do so well?"

Not that it was actually a question.  Apparently the fabric of reality had split apart in his kitchen; the SGC had to secure the scene, and Carter told him as much.  Then she added, _"Sir, if this is right, your guest is from another universe.  We never got a chance to study the quantum mirror in the depth that it deserved, and this is the first indication that it may have been built to mimic a natural phenomenon."_

Dmitri wandered back in with a beer stein full of coffee – sacrilege, to Jack's mind – and plopped down on the couch with her feet on the floor this time, tilting her head at him.  He groaned.  "Tell me why I care, Carter."

A pause.  _"...I guess you don't, sir."_

Jack eyed Dmitri, who refused to take the hint and kept watching him instead.  "Right," he said.  "Wake Hammond up and explain until he ponies up the airfare."  He flipped the phone closed.  "Looks like you're staying here for a bit."

"So, I say 'the Rift' and you look like I'm speaking Cantonese, but the US Air Force has policies in place for when the laws of physics get tossed through a blender?" Dmitri said, then snorted.  "You guys sure take 'Aim High' in a weird direction."  Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Dmitri ran right over it.  "...look," she said, "I figure I probably owe you a drink.  You know, uninvited guest, half-past-why-in-the-morning, little bits of rubber all over your kitchen."  She shrugged one shoulder.  "I'll clean those up, by the way.  So just tell me what's your poison, and if they don't take my cash twenty miles down, I'll set up a still from spare parts. Deal?"

"Uh," Jack said. "Still. Sure. Whatever. Are you always like this?"

The too-wide grin returned. "Heya, Col, I'm Dmitri Lang, A-Okay. We _obviously_ haven't met."

"Right," Jack muttered. That was probably her version of a Yes. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You act like you do this all the time."

She shrugged one shoulder.  "Believe me, _cazador_ , inside, I'm flipping out like a raccoon on a subway train.  'Possibility of getting stuck in a foreign universe with no way home' was on the brochure, but they made sure to put it in real tiny type, you know?  ...but, hell, 'Be Prepared' isn't just the motto of the Boy Scouts and megalomaniacal animated lions, and I've spent since I was sixteen getting my wings in studying the lives of people who do just this sort of thing and with a lot less choice in the matter than I had.  'sides."  She shrugged.  "Attacking it with science is kinda how I deal."

Jack was shaking his head.  "I hope you know that none of that made any sense."

The grin got a bit wider.  "I'm told I have that effect on people."

"Yeah," Jack said, and eyed her a bit more. "I'm guessing it wasn't four in the morning where you came from?"

"Pretty much the opposite," she said.  "About three-fifteen in the afternoon.  June 9th, 2008."

"Two thousand _eight_?" Jack demanded.

"Not so here, I assume?" Dmitri said. "The Rift does that. Likes playing with timelines. Occasionally we get people through, they know each other, but one guy gets there after the other one's been missing six months and it's another three before he shows up in the basement..."

Jack dug two fingers into the bridge of his nose, and wondered if there was any way to make Cater and the SGC team show up faster. Maybe he could just call Thor and ask him to give them a ride.

Back in time. To ten minutes before she showed up.

>

"Two questions: are you hungry, and is your kitchen stocked?  Give me at minimum six eggs, some butter, a handful of edible green things, some garlic, a good shake of salt, a sunny day, a pane of glass, and a hubcap, and I can whip up a mean fritatta."

>


End file.
